


Merely Improbable

by Jupiter_Ash



Series: The Low Road [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 21:23:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21464749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiter_Ash/pseuds/Jupiter_Ash
Summary: Sequel/Prequel to "The Low Road", which you should read first as this one will spoil all the twists of the first.As such, the summary of this story will be in the Author's Notes.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: The Low Road [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547260
Comments: 38
Kudos: 166





	Merely Improbable

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone knows the story of Sherlock Holmes and his assistant and chronicler Doctor Watson. What everyone does not know is just how fictional some elements of Watson's tales in The Strand really were.
> 
> Here, from Watson's own pen, is a more accurate version of rather significant events.
> 
> Or more simply, the getting together tale of John and his Victorian Detective.

~ 1 ~

How I came to share rooms, and consequently a life, with Mr. Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street is a matter already well documented. Indeed, so widely is the story known that to question the truth of the matter would be taken by many to be a form of blasphemy. Had not the story been of my own telling and by my own pen after all? Had my name not accompanied the text? The truth has already been set down, and so truth it shall remain, aside for the small matter of the account having been at least partially fictionalised.

While the broad strokes of the tale - and the ensuing tales - were on the whole correct, certain details were changed to obscure truths too dangerous for public consumption; namely the condition with which I exist, and the true nature of mine and Holmes' relationship.

Following the death of my beloved botanist and zoologist in '53, I found myself suddenly devoid of occupation. Clean living, fresh air and advancements in medicine had allowed my dear Sherlock to live longer than either of us had dared hope, before finally passing away at the respectable age of 71. 

After a lifetime of travel and adventure, he had devoted the last years of his life to the quiet sorting and publishing of his many findings and observations. It had been a peaceful, pleasant time, one I have only fond memories of, but with his leaving there was nothing to hold me to such an existence and the desire to be once again amongst my own people gripped me.

This I did, travelling the continent to reacquaint myself with old consociates, apprising myself of any developments I may have missed in my absence. 

After a decade, I returned to London, and in a fit of what I thought of as inspiration, embarked upon the necessary training to become a doctor. Whilst the knowledge of herbs and natural remedies had been both an interest and hobby for me in the past, a more systematic, regulated approach was coming into practice. Having witnessed the skills of the ship's surgeon while we had sailed, I was keen to learn more and was amazed by the further developments since then. I will not deny that there was a certain selfishness in my choice, for I planned on putting my new knowledge to good use by keeping my next Sherlock hale and hearty and with me for as long as possible.

With my new qualifications and a new identity in place, I set out once more, this time for India, and then spent a good few years travelling the Near East, until a near death incident at the hands of my own kind in Afghanistan had me heading once again for more familiar shores.

It was then that I decided I should hang up my travelling bag in the hopes I might instead come upon the Sherlock who was to be my next companion. My instincts told me he was in London, so to London I went, and there I stayed, biding my time, waiting for our paths to cross. Months passed until the day came whence I gave serious consideration to availing myself of more modern means in an attempt to find him myself.

As fate would have it, it was that very same day that my path crossed with Stamford and my life took its unexpected but most welcome turn. 

On hearing that his acquaintance in need of a companion to share rooms bore the name Sherlock Holmes, there was no question in my mind that I should meet this very man. Indeed, the more Stamford told me of him, the more certain I grew that this was indeed the very person I had so recently decided to seek out.

We agreed to drive round after luncheon during which I probed my companion for further details of the man while making it sound more of curiosity than anything else. Inside, however, an excitement had gripped me leaving me anxious to discover just what sort of a man this Sherlock would be.

If I had a word for it, I would call it providence that the first time we should meet in this life, Sherlock Holmes was experimenting on blood.

His obvious and unfettered excitement over his newly discovered test for blood was both so delightful and infectious that it mattered little that in the future he would not need it. 

_(One of the benefits of my condition is the unerring ability to recognise blood of any age and in any form regardless of condition. In the future, once aware of my aptitude, all he need do was ask my opinion on an unidentified stain. Indeed, on this matter he would later often grumble, if only with a twinkle in his eye, before pointing out that in law, proof was the deciding factor and his new test for blood stains was more palatable to both law enforcement and the courts than the testimony of a simple London doctor, secret as it must be the particular abilities from my inheritance.)_

All in all, however, within five minutes of making his acquaintance, Sherlock Holmes was digging a long bodkin into his finger and drawing off the resulting drop of blood in a chemical pipette. I knew in that moment, beyond all doubt, that he was the right man.

~ 2 ~

There was no question of me not taking the rooms. Even considering the secrets that I held, I felt them safe, if only in the immediate.

I had not, however, counted on the man who was Sherlock Holmes.

Stamford's last words to me, as we departed that first day, was that he would wager Holmes knew more about me than I did him. Confoundedly, Holmes had been spot on about me having lately returned from Afghanistan, although how he had known that I could not then fathom. I had not been completely surprised though. Every Sherlock I have known has possessed a keen intellect and well developed mind. I had been merely delighted that this Sherlock was obviously no different. I had no understanding at the point, however, of how much danger I had perhaps put myself in. 

From previous experiences, Sherlock had always taken reasonably well the eventual revelation of my true age and identity, as he also had my sexual preferences. The reveal of all often inevitably came close together, and although the moment was often fraught with the possibility of fear or rejection, it had always worked out pleasingly well in the end.

Indeed, so fascinated by my differing physiology, my previous Sherlock had discarded his initial shock and scepticism in favour of in-depth scientific exploration. That it had taken so little time for that exploration to take on a more _personal_ physical method had only been a delight to both of us.

This Sherlock, I had hoped, would be no different, being that he had the curiosity of a scientist and the open mindedness of a detective. That said, I found myself, at least initially at first, content to simply get to know the man he currently was.

If there is one drawback to reawakening the memories of all the men Sherlock has been, it is that the process inevitably changes the man he currently is. It would be impossible for it not to. What is a man, after all, but a sum of his memories and experiences? 

After a period of adjustment, a sort of equilibrium is reached, a meeting point between the man he is and the men who have gone before. This might reveal itself in a previous interest being once more taken up or new talents being discovered. Holmes' knowledge of geography and seafaring certainly improved following the most recent change, although that did not stretch to astronomy, a subject he continued to treat with contempt.

I have, however, always made a point of treating each man as a separate person, never presuming that just because one liked a particular subject or pastime that the next would also.

As happy as I inevitably am to have my partner back with full memory of who I am and the past we have shared, this does not mean that I am not without sorrow in having to lose the man I have come to know. It is, perhaps, foolishness; certainly it has been expressed to me as such on many an occasion, but I find it a human reaction that I am more than willing to entertain since so much more has been lost to me.

To this end, I had hoped to spend a little more time than I had on previous occasions to thoroughly get to know the man Sherlock currently was. Sharing rooms would only aid in this. Unfortunately, I had failed to take into full consideration the man that he was, and as such the final decision was taken rather dramatically from my hands.

~ 3 ~

It was late September when the event finally occurred. It had been a little over nine months since we had taken the rooms together and six months following the events laid out in what has become known as "A Study in Scarlet".

Holmes had spent the summer months in a state of activity, as buoyed by the pleasant weather as the rash of crime that came with it. While his reputation was far from the heights he would later enjoy, he had a steady stream of visitors, and between cases, there was a bustling, living city to become ever increasingly acquainted with.

As with all things, neither the weather nor the mood were to last, and by the time the second half of September was upon us, Holmes had once again sunk into the type of melancholy I would become very well acquainted with. 

Three days following his last case - a trifling affair involving missing silverware from a local church, neither interesting enough in setting nor remarkable enough in the solving to warrant setting down on paper - I left Holmes lying listlessly on the sofa in his dressing-gown, having determined that other than using less ethical means I would be unable to rouse his interest in anything. He had barely spared a word for me in days, and unable to do little else, I left him to his mood.

It was some considerable time later that I returned, only to find Holmes in such a state he was barely recognisable from the man he had been when I had departed. Although he was now dressed and befitting company, he had about him a look of bedragglement and anguish, as if he had spent hours pacing and worrying his fingers through his hair.

So altered was he from his usual state that I was momentarily lost for words, but before I could exclaim to ask him of the matter, he turned to fix me with a look of such anguish that I can cease to do it justice on the page. Indeed, it is a look I have not seen on his face since, and for the life of me, never wish to see again. 

"This can no longer do!" he said with a cry that seemed to come from deep within him. "I have thought this through and through, but I find myself in a quagmire of such relentlessness that I can go no further. Tell me you are an invert, Watson. Or else express your disgust that I might wish you to be one."

His words caught me so unprepared that I could only query his meaning by voicing his name as a question.

He turned away at this, preferring to focus on anything but me, even as the words continued to pour from his lips.

"I confess that until now I had thought myself a man above all such failings concerning the flesh. Untroubled as I have been by distraction from the fairer sex, I had concluded, however erroneously, that I had escaped that weakness which plagues more common men. Rather, I now find myself firmly within the category of those considered most abominable and irredeemable. Worse still, I find myself wishing that you too share the same moral failing. Thus I am twice cursed; once for being of a perverted nature; and twice for wishing a good man, the best of men, might be of the same damned inclination."

His words, I must confess, shook me to my core. Not because of the admittance of his interests, that - along with his intelligence and quest for knowledge - had held steady in all incarnations so far, but because of the vitriol with which he spoke.

With the passing centuries, the acceptance for who we were and what we did as men together had varied considerably. At best it was something barely remarked upon, at worst we were forced to conceal that as much as we did everything else. For the most part though, it passed with little more than a glance or comment by our acquaintances, and, by and large, even by society as general.

What two men might do together was for them to decide provided it did not interfere with the expectation for marriage or an heir. For me, it had not been that relatively long since I had enjoyed the pleasures of a royal bedchamber, and had then had to save my young future lover from the wandering eye of that same Scottish English King.

Now though, James' five times great granddaughter held the throne, and as admired a monarch as she was, her personal views had shaped the country in ways that might never be fully understood. What had been quietly tolerated in previous centuries became unacceptable in the extreme. What had once existed just below the surface of society was now pushed into the deep depths, hidden away lest discovery bring ruin.

For men such as myself, this did little to change our inclinations and practices, other than the need to conduct them in greater secret. For others though, it instilled in them a sense of great shame, the belief of moral failing, and the internalisation of loathing for something that was not of their choosing.

In all my machinations, I had not considered that Holmes might be one of these types of man. It was an oversight on my behalf and one I was only starting to face the consequences of.

"Holmes," I said again in the hope that I might stem the words from him as the power of reassurance was well within my ability.

To my horror, I found myself unable to bring him the relief he so needed, so distressed was he that he neither heeded my address nor was receptive to the gentle push of compulsion I sent his way. Indeed, at that point it would have taken no less than a fully powered order on my behalf to calm him, something that even a simpleton would not have failed to notice.

"So you see," he continued, fully in the grip of despair and misery, "there is nothing you can say that would be worse than that which I have already told myself. Disgusted as you no doubt now are on being made fully aware of the nature and character of the man with whom you share these rooms, on the mutual affection we once enjoyed, I ask only that you not inform the Yard of the true reasons as to the end of our acquaintance."

With this he sunk into his customary chair, closed his eyes and bowed his head as if waiting for execution.

I confess that I did not at first respond. It was not, as he would initially surmise, due to any shock following his confession, but rather due to the incandescent rage building within me. If I had been free to, I would have cursed all the men and gods that had brought my friend to such a wretched state.

It was only due to centuries of hard learnt self-control that stopped me from creating a bigger scene than the one already in progress. I had also the character and temperament of the man before me to consider. A show of lost temper was not what the situation required.

"Holmes," I said. "_Sherlock_. If you are not aware of how much I ardently respect and admire you, then you are less than half the great detective we both purport you to be. Equally, if you truly believe, regardless of my own inclinations, that your confession be so abhorrent to me that I would both quit this residence, and place your life and reputation in the brutal unfeeling hands of Scotland Yard, then _I_ would not be the man, nor the friend I believe myself to be."

This, at least, gained his attention, as I had counted that it would. As little as he might think of himself in such matters, I had come to know a little of the esteem he seemed to hold me in.

"Watson, I do not-" he protested with some spirit.

"No, Holmes, you have spoken," I informed him quite firmly. "Let me now have my say."

At this he at least afforded me the curtesy of quiet while I gathered the words with which to speak.

"I had hoped to spare you the anguish you now find yourself in," I said in confession. "But in truth I thought you already suspected my true nature, but that in respect to our situation chose out of delicacy and politeness to turn a blind eye to those habits and inclinations. So let me make this as clear as is able. There are two things in this world for which I will never offer apology.

"The first is that, regardless of modern distaste of the inclination, I am indeed an invert. I do not and will not consider it a perversion or a moral failing, and I request that you never again speak of it to me in such abhorred terms. What one man may do or feel with another is of no consequence of anyone other than of the parties involved. I will not accept being told it is shameful or unnatural, or that it makes one socially or morally inferior as a result, and I beg that you do likewise. If it is too your nature, as you have so alluded, then I will not have you think of yourself as being perverted, detestable, or abominable. 

"The second fact, for which no apology will ever cross my lips, is that to me, you are the most brilliant, the most engaging, and the most beautiful of men. Flaws you have without a doubt, physically and socially, in both character and behaviour, but for my taste they enhance rather than detract from the man I see before me. To me, you are the most perfect of being. Calling you friend would have been sufficient for my needs. Your present state and words, however, leads me to hope that, maybe, there is room for more."

As I spoke those last words, I gently rested my hand over his, having moved towards him during my speech. I could feel the tremor that still gripped his frame even as I sought to reassure him. For a moment there was no reaction and I feared I had made some misstep in my entire treatment of him, but then his hand turned beneath mine, his fingers repositioning until our hands cradled each other, our fingers entwined.

"Watson," he said, even as he continued to prefer a lowered head to look directly at me. "_John_. I find myself at an uncharacteristic loss. Having never dared to fully consider that even if you might share the same... affliction... you might also consider me to your liking, I now know not what to do or say."

I confess my first instinct was to make comment on how out of the ordinary such an occurrence must be for him, but felt it best to steer away from personal based humour with him in such a vulnerable state. I did however, feel that a certain lightening of the mood could only help, so reached for a phrase he himself had used several times in my direction.

"It is elementary, my dear friend," I said with a small smile, while raising my other hand to gently brush against his angular face. This at least got the reaction I sought; namely his eyes once more meeting mine.

"Do only what you feel comfortable with," I continued. "Say only what you truly believe or desire. But above all, be true to yourself and to me, and we will find our own way."

The then meeting of our lips was as gentle as it would have been damning had it been seen by anyone outside of that room. Such a small action as it was, it was the pin point on which our world balanced, ready to fall in a direction different from whence we had been going.

In action it was small, nearly chaste, and in another time and place could have passed for something wholly innocent, but in this time of reserve and morals, it spoke of far more.

Holmes' face took on an uncharacteristic large smile as we drew apart, his face shining with joy as much as with relief. Then it faded a touch, his eyes darting to the door before alighting once more on mine.

"My dear Watson, as much as I would wish to take this experience further, I fear Mrs Hudson will be looking to serve us supper within the half hour."

I understood his point and his concern.

"Then we should endeavour to not cause her any undue distress," said I.

Our second kiss was briefer, but no less meaningful.

"That said, my dear Holmes," I said after I had somewhat reluctantly moved aside. "Your current countenance is as foreign to your usual state as a camel is to the Arctic."

Rising to his feet, he made a noise as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. "So I see," he said. "Well, there can be nothing for it now. I find myself with little desire to pretend my mood to be anything other than it is. Mrs Hudson is not the most observant of individuals, but should she make remark of my current state, we shall just have to tell her something far more likely to be the cause of my change."

"And what might that be?"

"Why," he said with a flourish before regaling me with a wink, "murder, of course."

~ 4 ~

By mutual consent, we took the change in our relationship slowly. Far more reserved that previous incarnations I had known, Holmes was not someone easy with physical touch or romantic expression, and more than anything I did not wish to startle him with too much, too fast. Where in other lives we might have reached for a bed with little hesitation, that outcome would have to be carefully built towards this time. 

I confess that I rather enjoyed the slower courtship; the almost shy glances he would shoot me when we were alone, the gentle explorative kisses when the mood over took him, the calculating looks he would get after he tried something new, as if recording my reactions for further use. It made me feel heady and young in a way I had not in centuries.

The other benefit was that it gave me longer to determine how best to broach the other issue.

While I did not fear physical injury due to my revelation, I did fear a natural revulsion as taught by this highly moralistic time. The last thing I wanted was to be associated with some sort of demon.

I waited until after the case of the resident patient, when I thought he would be the least distracted and most receptive to my words.

Breakfast had been cleared away and Mrs. Hudson had removed herself from the property to visit the market, as was her custom on such days. Holmes had finished with the day's newspapers and had retired to his customary chair to pick up his current book. I supposed there would be no better time to broach the subject and that I should do so quickly before I lost my nerve.

"Holmes," I said, "I must confess that there is something else about me that I have not told you. It is something of great importance that I should have informed you of before now, but in truth I feared your reaction."

He afforded me the curtesy of raising his eyes above his book, but did not lower the text. 

"There is no need to concern yourself with my reaction, Watson. Whatever the matter, I doubt I shall be surprised. There is little that I do not already know about you and even less still that I have not already deduced."

"That may be," I said with some shortness, "but even your skills could not foresee what I am about to tell you. It is unlikely that you will even believe me, but it is of the honest truth, and I beg that you at least let me finish before declaring my sanity suspect."

"Beg not at all," Holmes responded with a wave of his hand as he snapped the book closed. "I have no reason to either disbelieve or condemn you. You are as sane as I. So speak what you have to say and relieve yourself of whatever it is troubling you."

Springing to my feet, I paced to the window. Despite the many times of having such a conversation, I found it to never get any easier.

"I confess I am unsure how best to broach this," I said. "Yet I must. So I will do it in the most direct manner, as befitting your expressed preference. Holmes, I am not entirely human."

Whatever reaction I had been expecting I had not expected there to be a lack of one.

"Yes, Watson, of that I am aware," he said. His words were measured, his tone neutral, his expression leaning only a touch towards amusement.

My reaction was considerably less controlled and I can only assume my initial reaction to his words to have been one of a complete lack of composure.

"Be serious, my good man," I said quite firmly once the words could take form. "I have just told you that I am not human."

"And I have heard you and confirmed that this is a fact to which I am already fully aware."

He continued to look at me as if I had not announced the impossible.

Whatever words I had been planning were now completely lost to me, so it was with relief that he decided to continue the conversation himself.

"You are, I presume, one of those who appear human but unlike us must consume blood rather than food to survive. Some more romantic souls might call you a seducer of the innocent, a so called creature of the night. In short, I believe you to be a member of the group of beings John Polidori sensationally described as Vampyres. I am, however, working on an incomplete data set, so please correct me if I am erroneous in theory, but on the matter of you not being quintessentially human, I am fully aware."

I have, over the years, seen many sights and heard many things, but Sherlock's ability to surprise me somehow never ceases.

It was with weaker legs and a lighter heart that I retook my customary chair and pondered how best to proceed.

"How long have you known?" I asked.

"About you in specific?" he responded. "Beyond reasonable doubt, within the third month of you rooming here. Of the existence of your people in general, it has been a few years since I became aware of their actuality."

I did little to hide my expression of disbelief.

"No, do not look at me like that," he declared. "You of all people should be aware of my methods."

I was aware of his methods, having had the pleasure of witnessing them first hand on many occasion, but never had I fully considered the extent of the truth he might see in me. Or that he might be aware of others like me. I was, we were, after all, an impossibility.

"Would you be as kind as to enlighten me as to how you are aware of such things?" I asked him with some curiosity.

"Of course," he responded enthusiastically and I could see he was ready to go into explaining mode.

"It started about five years past when my attention was drawn to a certain pattern of incident around particular parts of the city. First, two bodies washed up in the river inexplicably void of blood. Then, several incidents were reported where people awoke in an unfamiliar location with no memory of how they had gotten there or who they had been with. Next, several of the homeless and ladies of the night complained of unexplained disappearances. Then there was a third body, bloodless and without explanation.

"No one connected these events, no one except me.

"Plotting the incidents to a map of London, taking into consideration weather and tidal patterns, I narrowed the central place of activity to a specific area and then to a particular exclusive club, one that was anciently old and whose membership criteria was vague to the point of being shrouded in secrecy. 

"I watched for some time the comings and goings of particular members, noting similarities that they shared which would be unusual in the general population. My interest, however, was less with the club in general and more with a specific individual, a fact, I believe that helped save my life."

I exclaimed at this, horrified to discover what situation my friend had put himself in, while I myself had been on another continent. It occurred to me that I could well have lost my Sherlock before even finding him, a thought that filled me with horror.

"Perhaps I exaggerate," my friend hastily retracted on seeing my reaction, "but I was young and still held certain romantic notions that can cloud my recollection of events to make them seem far worse than they were."

While this might have been true - deep down, this Sherlock was a surprising romantic at heart - I was far from appeased by his reassurance, but bade him to continue.

After a sharp look, he did so.

"The individual in person was new to the city," he said. "An aristocrat of some small Eastern European country by his own claim, but a man of some considerable means. My own research yielded nothing on him, the title he claimed having lapsed some hundred and seventy years previous with a gentleman who curiously matched him in both description and name. 

"Further intrigued, I widened my search and discovered at least three more mentions of an individual claiming that name and title in incidents around Europe, all of which coincided with reports of bloodless corpses being discovered, their deaths never solved.

"Perplexed by the seeming impossibility of this, one night I followed the gentleman in question and bore witness to his remarkable escapades. What I saw startled me to my core, shaking the very foundations of what I thought I knew. Feats of unusual strength he showed, followed by the easy attainment of a young lady merely by words, then, down an otherwise deserted alleyway, a physical transformation of his facial features and the appearance of what I can only describe as fangs. As he went to bite the young lady's neck, the sound of a police whistle startled us both and the next I knew, the gentleman in question had fled, scaling a seven foot wall with uncommon ease.

"Confused though I was, I recovered my wits sooner than the young lady. On approaching her openly, she appeared to be in quite the daze, but allowed me to walk her back to her usual accommodation. Unfortunately, she could tell me nothing about the gentleman in question, barely able in fact to recall there being a gentleman at all. Certainly, by the next day when I paid her a call, she could remember nothing of the previous night.

"Perplexed still further, I returned to my lodgings to ponder my next move. I was now certain that I had correctly identified the culprit of the crimes, but as to the nature of the gentleman, I was struggling to comprehend. It was then, in an unusual move, that I turned to fiction as well as fact, and eventually, and rather reluctantly, concluded that there may well be more things in heaven and on earth than had been dreamt of in my philosophy.

"At an impasse, I then returned to considering the other individuals I had identified as being members of the club. It took only another week to adequately confirm to my satisfaction that the other members too shared the Count’s abilities, although not his nightly habits. 

"What then, was I to do? I could not, in good conscience, involve the authorities in such a matter, for even if they believed me as to the true nature of the club and to the nature of the members - none of whom, I had determined, other than this individual, were responsible for anything untoward - there was a good possibility the authorities would judge all as guilty and thus treat all the same. 

"No, I felt it best to leave the authorities out altogether, but also could not leave this individual to continue his terrible acts."

"So what did you do?" I asked, caught up as I was in his tale and eager to know its conclusion.

"Why," he said with a wry smile, "I decided to engage the most powerful weapon at my disposal."

I was intrigued by this as I did not believe my friend to be in the possession of a firearm or sword and told him so.

"A pen, my dear fellow!" he exclaimed with some amusement. "The mightiest weapon of them all. I simply used a pen and sent a short note addressed to the director of the club, and then I waited.

"Sure enough, two days later I was paid a visit by two gentleman, who much like yourself, held all the vestige of being human without the fact. It was the first time I had knowingly been so close to such an individual, and I confess I found it fascinating.

"The gentlemen in question did not share with me their real names, but with word and business card confirmed from whence they had come.

"I then quickly enlightened them of the situation as I knew it; namely of the crimes being committed and by whom. As expected, they betrayed no surprise at my words. They were of course already aware of this individual’s actions.

"'Gentlemen', I informed them. 'I have no interest in taking forward what I know to any higher group or authority. Your existence is nothing to me provided you stay on the right side of the law. This individual, however, must be stopped. As our legal system is not equipped to deal with such a person, I can only strongly insist that this is sorted within your own community and as quickly as possible.'

"'To what consequence, exactly?' I was asked.

"'To the consequence that I may be forced to find another, for you, less palatable means of resolving the issue,' said I.

"This was perhaps the only thing I could hold over them. Trusting my life to their good sense, I informed them that unless the situation was resolved swiftly and completely, I would take what I knew to the very highest levels of Government.

“’I will, in short, gentlemen,’ I said, ‘turn your lives into one of turmoil and persecution that not one of you would wish to step foot in this country for a hundred years. You must understand, gentlemen, this is not something I would wish to do, but for the sake and safety of my fellow men, it is a step I would be willing to take. On the other hand, deal with this matter as you see fit and I shall gladly fain ignorance of your existence until the end of my days’.

“This, as you might expect, did pique their interest.

"'Since you are the only one currently aware or interested,' the second gentleman said slowly, 'what is to stop us from ending your existence rather than this individual’s?'

"Why, there was nothing of course, and I told them so accordingly. Nothing, aside from the three documents detailing everything I knew currently in the hands of three different street urchins who were under explicit instruction to deliver the documents at a particular time and date unless they received further instructions from myself and only myself.

“‘Even with your prolific abilities, my dear fellows,’ I concluded easily, ‘you would be unable to identify and stop all three within the timeframe. Nor, do I believe you willing to take the risk. You see, gentlemen, I have no quarrel with you or your people. I only desire for a rouge individual, a danger to both our people, be stopped.’

“The gentlemen remained silent after I finished, but I did not rush to fill it.

“A shared glance and then they rose to their feet.

“‘This individual shall be taken care of’, the first gentleman said. ‘On this you have our word.’

“I thanked them and they left. Two weeks later I received a note by which I took it that the deed was done, and indeed I have found no trace of this individual since, and there have been no further bodies.”

Holmes concluded the talk with a satisfied smile and a wave of his hand. I, myself, however, was in a state of astonishment, not only for that he had survived an encounter with my kind – his plan had been testament to his keen intellect and had perhaps gone some way to ensuring his continued existence, although it had hardly been fool proof had we had had sufficient need to eliminate him – but that once the threat had been removed, he had been left both alive and with his memories intact. I could see little reason why this had not been remedied in the interim years. It was not within our habit to leave at large those who could expose us. Unless there was good reason.

“I don’t suppose you still possess the correspondence?” I asked lightly.

He confirmed he did, and after only a brief moment of searching, was able to pass it to me.

I received the single folded page with interest. The handwriting was not immediately obvious, but the seal was the official one of the club. It was the same seal I had used myself over the years.

‘Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Please rest assured that the matter to which you did consult us has been resolved. We now consider the matter closed and all debts between us discharged. Yours’.

The signature was indecipherable, but one I knew well enough to recognise. The gentleman in question was well known to me and to my previous Sherlock. It was to this individual that my previous Sherlock had once aided at considerable risk to himself, although this was not something my current Sherlock would at that time recall. 

I did now have my explanation as to why this Sherlock had not been compelled to forget the whole encounter. All debts between us discharged, indeed.

“And myself?” I asked, carefully refolding the letter. “What gave me away?” Curious as to what he had noted in particular, I implored him to continue, something he did with great relish. 

"Your body temperature is several degrees centigrade beneath that of the average man, yet you are neither bothered by extreme heat nor cold, to the point where you never perspire nor have I witnessed you to raise goose bumps or to shiver.

"Despite your warning to me when we first met, you maintain the appearance of a reasonable sleeping habit, but do not on the whole spend that time sleeping, yet your appearance and temperament is unchanged despite this.

"You eat, but at no time have you shown true signs of hunger despite claims of that nature, except for times when you are forced to delay or forgo one of your excursions.

"Yes, I am aware of your excursions, as I am aware that you are a member of the same club I had previously investigated. While you might have been aware of any attempt by myself to follow you, my homeless network were far less conspicuous. 

"Lastly, my initial suspicions were raised the very time we first met."

"The first time we met," I said, my voice surprisingly hoarse.

"Yes. You may remember that I was at that exact time working on my test for blood. You were very obliging in being shown the manner in which it could be used. You could have been faking your interest in order to secure good lodgings at a reasonable price, but there was one thing you could not fake."

"And what was that?" I asked.

"Why, the way your eyes dilated when you watched me prick my finger."

I laughed, at least somewhat out of relief.

"So you have known," I said. "All this time."

"Indeed," he said.

"And yet you still agreed to share rooms with me. Were you not concerned?"

"Needed I to be?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in my direction. "I know you to be a loyal, honest, noble man, of strong character and morals. You neither cause harm nor prey on the unwilling. Should you have wished me harm you have had plenty of opportunity before now."

"I would never willingly cause you harm," I said quite fiercely.

"Quite right too," he responded with a shy smile that simply begged to be kissed.

Certain I was not to be rejected, I granted him the kiss which he returned quite eagerly, putting to good use all the lessons he had learned in the past few weeks.

"Perhaps now you will permit me further physical exploration," he said as I returned once more to my chair. "I confess to be rather eager to see you less encumbered by all those layers, and I speak as both a scientist and as a man. Tonight, for example, if you are amenable. After which, perhaps you would be so kind to tell me what was the true fate finally met by the Worthingdon bank gang."

"I am quite amenable," I said, with a shake of my head. "On both those points. But permit me just a further moment of disbelief. It is hard for me to accept that you have known what I am for all this time. In all my years, this is not something that has happened before."

His expression was one of amused pride.

"It is quite simple," he said. "As I have already proclaimed, once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, not matter how improbable-"

"Must be the truth." I shook my head in shared amusement. "I do declare, that you, Holmes are sometimes something quite impossible."

"Perhaps," he conceded with one of his no longer so rare smiles, a warm twinkle in his eyes. "But I in turn do declare that you, my dear Watson, are merely improbable."

~ The End ~

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Notes:
> 
> In this universe, John chronicled Holmes’ exploits for The Strand, although they were somewhat edited versions of the truth. He still has copies somewhere. He goes back to read them when he’s feeling nostalgic. Fortunately or unfortunately, the world moved on and the exploits of the original Sherlock Holmes and his faithful Boswell were generally forgotten.
> 
> The meeting at St Barts, along with the finger prick and blood, was taken straight from “A Study in Scarlett”. You should have seen my expression when I re-read it and realised that the first time they met Holmes had been playing around with blood. The actual case in “A Study in Scarlett” takes places about 3 months after they’ve been sharing rooms. 
> 
> The Worthingdon bank gang refers to the conclusion of the case in “The Resident Patient”. At the risk of spoilers, the story concludes with certain characters never heard from again and believed to have perished in the wreck of the Norah Creina off Portugal. Or, perhaps, being as they were murderers, John informed his “friends” and thus the culprits were never seen again.


End file.
